A CHANGE OF HEART: Book 1 of the Hartford Series

by Jermaine Watkins

  “It tells me that those folks are stupid to pass up on hirin’ one of the best people I know. Don’t let them break your spirit, Ross. You’ll get hired soon enough.” Walking over to the table, Tracie eased the newspaper out of his friend’s grasp. “Put this away. I want you to come with me for a short drive.”

  Now, sitting in the passenger seat, Ross stared impatiently out the car window, oblivious to the vibrant scenes of nature outside. A strong, full sun was shining down on the trees, brilliantly illuminating the autumn colors. But Ross was deep in thought, wondering where Tracie was taking him. Perhaps it was an attempt to get Ross’s mind off his failure to land a job. Even so, he felt a desperate need to get home to continue his search. He wanted to be around in case he got a call from one of the managers he had already interviewed with.

  “It’s gorgeous outside,” Tracie said, flashing a wide, mischievous grin in response to his friend’s green-eyed glare. He knew how eager Ross was to get back to his apartment, but he also knew that at the end of the short drive was a surprise that would make Ross a very happy man.

  “Enjoy seeing me suffer? I fail to see the humor in this, Tracie. I want to know where you are taking me, right now.” Ross slapped his lap with his hands.

  “Hey, look! We’re here.” Tracie turned into a driveway, crowded with cars, in front of what appeared to be a small red-and-white farmhouse. He kept driving straight until he eased the car into one of the extra parking spaces in the back.

  Ross observed people walking in and out of the farmhouse’s white door. “What’s this place?” he asked.

  “Heavenly Delight.” Tracie opened the car door to let himself out, but he was immediately restrained by a firm handgrip from the other man.

  “Tracie, interviewing for a job can be an embarrassing experience. Especially since I’m a cripple. I don’t want you to see that look of distaste in your manager’s eyes when he sees me.” He spoke in a rush of words that expressed his sudden panic.

  But Tracie continued to smile. “Just trust me, okay?” And then he waved for Ross to follow him inside the restaurant, which they entered from the front.

  “I have to go find somebody,” Tracie said. He scanned the people in his immediate surroundings before turning back to Ross. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” Walking off behind a stainless-steel order counter, he returned only a minute later with a slim brown-skinned man. Similar to Tracie in height, he wore round silver-rimmed glasses and had a neatly groomed mustache and beard hair on his worried face.

  “Nice meetin’ you, Ross. I’m Nick Wright, Tracie’s manager. He’s told me a lot about you. Except that he would be bringin’ you by this mornin’.” Nick shook his head as he glanced over at Tracie. “You know how busy I am in the mornin’.”

  Ross also turned to Tracie, but he wore an expression of anger. He had warned his friend about the disappointment that they would face. Now he was waiting for the final words of rejection and dismissal from Nick, whose worried face had already prepared Ross for just such an outcome.

  “Please, don’t be mad at Tracie. He really is one of my best workers. That’s why I promoted him to assistant manager. If I look worried, it’s just because this is a really busy time to hook up.” Nick held his hand out to indicate the impatient customers lining up at the order counter.

  But he quickly returned to the subject at hand. “When can you start work?”

  “Whenever you say.” Ross answered hesitantly, as if the serious manager might actually be joking.

  “We really need to fill an openin’ for a handyman, since the boy who used to hold that position just left for college. I’m lookin’ for a quick learner to replace him.”

  “Look no further. I’m your man,” Ross said with a big grin. Reaching out, he gave Nick an energetic handshake.

  “Good. You start tomorrow mornin’. Tracie will get you a uniform.” As Nick finished his sentence, he was already back on his way to serve the noisy crowd of customers.

  Ross waved goodbye. “See you first thing in the morning!” But his eyes were locked on Tracie, whose smile was evidence that he had known Ross would be hired from the start.

  “Thanks, Tracie.”

  “You’ve had a lot of bad luck. You deserve somethin’ good happen for you,” Tracie replied. He looked down and kicked at some invisible pebble on the floor. “I don’t know where you come from. Don’t know what you’ve done wrong in your past. But I do know you’re a good person. And good things should happen to good people, Ross.”

  Tracie’s words of prophecy forced Ross to remember the promise he had made to Maggie. He would use all his resources to ensure that Tracie’s dream of becoming a published author came true. “You’re right, Tracie. Now I better go so that you can start your workday.”

  “But I have to drive you home.”

  Ross pointed out the window. “There’s a bus stop right in front of the restaurant.”

  Tracie frowned. “Will you be all right?”

  Ross smiled. “Yes, I will. I’m a big boy.”

  “Okay, but call me as soon as you reach home,” Tracie said.

  Ross held his hand up, as if he were about to recite an oath of truth in court. “I promise.”

  The T bus conveniently arrived five minutes after Ross walked out of Heavenly Delight. He found a comfortable seat in the back section designed for people with physical disabilities.

  But his past fears resurfaced as black men and women began filling the seats of the bus at every stop. Up in the front, a woman hugged a large Bible and hummed softly to herself. In the center, two young women exchanged gossip about their babies’ fathers, who they believed were guilty of dodging child support. Immediately behind Ross, rap music blasted out of earphones that a teenager wore around his neck. All the while, Ross stared out the window to prevent even the slightest communication with the other passengers.

  Then he thought about Tracie and Maggie, who would be hurt to know that he still felt the same as he had in the very beginning. I am not the same person, he said within. I am a better man. He honestly believed the thoughts to be true. He just needed more time to accept the total black experience, to understand that each person of such a widely diverse race—such as the passengers sitting on the bus—was somehow connected to his best friends and therefore should be extended the same trust and courteous treatment.

  At the next stop, an elderly man boarded the bus, depositing the appropriate fare, and then he walked back to where Ross sat alone. “Can I join you?” the man asked.

  Ross turned from the window and paused. The man was dressed in a stain-spotted trench coat. A wrinkled black Angels hat sat on top of his disheveled gray head of hair. His dark face was lined with age.

  “Can I?” the man repeated, as if Ross had not heard him the first time.

  “Sure.” But Ross soon regretted speaking that one word. When the stranger sat down on the seat beside him, he brought with him a stench that could only compare to rotting onions. Returning to stare out the window, Ross held his breath and willed the bus to arrive at its destination faster.

  “Gettin’ mighty cold outside. Can’t say I like this time of the year at all.” The elderly man seemed to be talking to himself, until he looked over at Ross. “Name’s Chester James, but my friends all call me Chet.”

  Ross nodded, but he resumed staring out the window.

  “Hey, old man, why don’t you leave the guy alone. Don’t you see he doesn’t want to speak to you?” Across the aisle, a blonde-haired man, who looked to be in his early thirties, stared murderously across the top of a newspaper that he held open in his hands.

  The shocking words immediately seized Ross’s attention.

  “Go ahead, fella,” the man shouted over the loud engine noise. “Tell the stinkin’ bum how you feel. It’s the only way to get him out your face.”

  “Man, hush up,” Chet said in retaliation. “Soon this bus ride will be over and you won’t have to worry ’bout seein’ me ever again.”
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  The blonde-haired man opened his mouth to respond, but Ross interrupted with, “Please, I really don’t mind having conversation with... Chet.” He responded because he feared the words could escalate into a physical fight.

  The man across the aisle shook his head, as if Ross had made a poor choice, then turned his attention back to the newspaper.

  “A bum he called me. I spend my days on the streets ’cause I have to, not by choice. And I’m not even thought of as a decent human bein’ that deserve respect.” Chet paused for a second, and then he asked, “How could anyone be so cruel?”

  A sudden sense of déjà vu washed across Ross like warm water from a calming shower. Had he himself not spoken words very similar to Chet’s? Had he not asked Maggie to explain the violent beating he’d received from the ruthless gang of thugs on Hexter Street? It all seemed so long ago. But there was something particularly reminiscent of the past in Chet’s striking onyx eyes, which Ross noticed for the first time at that moment. He searched in his heart for the answer to the man’s question.

  “I apologize for what that guy said to you. It’s hard to be a kind person in such a selfish world, where everything is me-me-me. Not many people take the time to pay attention to others less fortunate than themselves.”

  Chet balled his hands into tight fists. “But sometimes folks just can’t help themselves. They need help from other folks. Ain’t that what life about? Helpin’ each other?”

  Ross could not pull his eyes away from the mesmerizing bright lights reflecting in the pure blackness of Chet’s eyes. Something deep inside told him he had met this man before. But then he blinked slowly several times to break the powerful spell that kept bringing him back to some forgotten part of his past.

  “Yes, I agree. Life is not worth much if people cannot reach out to each other in their time of need. But I don’t think we are born with that knowledge. I think it is a special plan, some untraveled course God draws us to over a period of time. So by the time we have run each other over to acquire some long awaited dream of power and wealth, we learn that true wealth is not in material things. It is in giving, loving, and getting to know our fellow human beings—however different our backgrounds are.”

  Chet laughed out loud and raised his knee to slap it with his hand. “You sure got the answer!” He continued laughing as he reached over just below the window to pull the signal cord, then slowly he stood to depart at the next stop.

  Ross turned to see where Chet would be going. The bus was turning off Blue Hills Avenue and onto Albany. It hissed as it came to a slow stop in front of a brownstone church building with a tall spire that pointed up to Heaven. When he heard footsteps, Ross turned back to see that Chet had already made his way to the open door. As he smiled, age lines further wrinkled Chet’s elderly face. “I’m goin’ now to deliver the good news, Ross. You on your way.”

  The voice that came from Chet’s mouth was strikingly different, familiar, and younger—all at once. And then Ross’s eyes grew large as he remembered where he had met Chet James before. The angel, Nigger, he screamed within. He has disguised himself as somebody else.

  Nigger nodded. He was acknowledging Ross’s thoughts, which he had heard as clearly as if Ross had spoken aloud. His onyx eyes gleamed at Ross one last time, before he turned and stepped down off the bus.

  Ross looked out the window, but Nigger had vanished, as if the door had actually been a passageway back to the spiritual realm. I’m losing my mind, Ross thought. No elderly man ever entered the bus. I’ve been talking to myself all this time.

  He looked around at the passengers to see if they were staring at him strangely, which would be a normal reaction to someone talking to himself. But everyone was tending to their business of reading, looking out the window at the passing scenery, or talking to other riders. Ross sighed. He was content in knowing that the entire experience, including the conversation, had all been part of his imagination.

  Still, he could not get Nigger out of his mind. Nor could he forget what was said. It had all seemed so real. Felt so real. Perhaps the black angel, who seemed to Ross to represent all the stereotypes that prejudiced white people related to black people, had been only a part of Ross’s imagination. Perhaps he was desperate for some kind of confirmation that he was on the right path, making the right decisions on his mission of changing for the better. Perhaps his mission was a vain cause to pursue, and he would end up losing his mind because the mysterious answer that he so desperately sought after was actually a basic truth. Perhaps I have already lost my mind, Ross thought.

  The T bus made its long-awaited stop downtown, across from the tall historical G. Fox building. Most of the passengers crowded around the front and center doors to make their departure. With the support of his cane, Ross stood and began limping down to where the driver sat. He would need to ask for a transfer to change from the T bus to the next bus going to Hexter Street.

  As Ross waited for the line of passengers to exit the bus ahead of him, a familiar face turned in his direction. The man said, “You mighty polite. But next time remember what I told you. Voice how you really feel or those bums will pester you every chance they get.”

  Ross immediately recognized the blonde-haired man who had sat across the aisle from him—and Nigger. He had seen the elderly stranger too.

  “Thanks for your words of advice,” Ross said with a slow smile. “I understand.” But the truth was he understood nothing, as a familiar thought resurfaced: I am definitely losing my mind.

  5

  Tracie brought the Horizon to a screeching halt in a curbside parking space in front of his apartment building. Bopping his head to the final lines of R. Kelly’s hit song The World’s Greatest, he sang along with the chorus, as if he were also blessed with a talented voice. He was consumed with an extraordinary energy, which could send him into a wild sprint around the housing project if he didn’t keep it inside. The stifled energy became a searing sensation that caused him to tremble as he reached to turn off the car radio.

  His day had begun perfectly, just the way he had planned. And even now, as if a permanent picture had been painted on the canvas of his mind, he could still remember the excitement on Ross’s face, the look that expressed his deep gratitude for Tracie’s help in getting him hired at Heavenly Delight. Actually, Tracie had done little more than mention Ross’s desperate circumstances to Nick, who was already looking for workers to replace all the young summer help he had lost to the new school season. He had asked to meet Ross as soon as Tracie could schedule it.

  It’s not much of a job, Tracie thought. He still carried a belief that Ross was from a completely different world, where a butler had answered the door of his stately home and he always traveled first class. But it was at the very least a beginning, and he knew how eager Ross was to reclaim his independence instead of always relying on the assistance of Maggie and him—however willing.

  Tracie grabbed a black leather backpack from the passenger seat and exited his car slowly to avoid getting hit by cars speeding up and down the narrow housing project street. As he made his way over to the sidewalk, he began running, his eyes fixed on a long manila envelope sticking out of their mailbox. Although he knew exactly what it was, he still prayed for the hopeful good news that the mail could bring.

  He snatched the envelope into his eager hands and ripped it open at its sealed top flap, as he had done so many times before, still praying, hoping. But the sight of the computerized form letter, which read like all the rest, once again stopped him:

  Thank you very much for the opportunity to read your manuscript. Unfortunately, it does not meet our needs at this time.

  Due to the large volume of manuscripts we receive daily, we regret that we are unable to make a personal reply or give criticism.

  We do wish you the best of luck in finding a publisher for your story elsewhere.

  The Editors

  “Damn it!” Tracie swore under his breath. No matter how many letters of rejection
he received, he could never get used to the sting of disappointment that they brought. He had spent countless hours each day working to perfect his skill of storytelling in this novel. Then he presented it to a complete stranger for consideration—one who could care less about the value of his time spent, much less the dreams the aspiring writer had carried ever since he was very young. How could someone just dismiss all his hard work without so much as a reading? He still didn’t understand, no matter how often it happened.

  “Hey, stranger!”

  Tracie turned around to see a beautiful young woman moving quickly up the walkway in his direction. Her name was Kria. She had a light complexion, a blunt nose, and soft brown lips. Her hair was worn in neat brown braids that fell to the center of her back. She wore a lightweight gold V-necked sweater and brown corduroy slacks to accommodate the breezy autumn day.

  “Hi, Kria.” Tracie’s words were slow and hesitant. He glanced over at a nearby hallway door, as if he were about to make a mad dash up to his apartment.

  The woman climbed the few cement porch steps and wrapped Tracie up in a close hug. “Damn, where you been? I ain’t seen your face since niggas was dancin’ the Runnin’ Man. But I remember them times like they was just the other day. We used to get our groove on, huh?”

  Kria laughed as she pulled away from Tracie and performed a few fast jogs of the Running Man.

  “Yeah, that was a long time ago.” Tracie was uncomfortable talking with Kria. She was a part of his past that had gone wrong, back when his young life was spent hanging out in the streets with his best friend, Little Man. In fact, Little Man’s former girlfriend, Yvonne, had been a close friend to Kria, who was Tracie’s very first girlfriend at the age of twelve.

  “Where you been since then, boy? It’s like you just disappeared off the earth.” She flashed a bright smile that was powerfully reminiscent of her early youth.

  “Been workin’ hard,” Tracie answered, glancing down at his watch. It was time to end the meaningless conversation so that he could get upstairs to his manuscript. He wanted to review it to find out what important piece was missing, the thing that was causing him to receive so many rejection letters.